


history

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, POV Niccolò Fares, Post-Canon, apparently i love writing from Nico's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 12:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18151859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: Nico finds Marti's search history.





	history

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyballs_and_manboobs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyballs_and_manboobs/gifts).



> hi hi. the lovely [ladyballs_and_manboobs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyballs_and_manboobs/pseuds/ladyballs_and_manboobs) helped me plot bunny this thing. thanks bee 💛
> 
> enjoy!

They’re doing nothing in particular. It’s late. Nico isn’t necessarily dozing off, but his brain drifts between studying the posters on Marti’s wall and daydreams that teeter on the unrealistic border of actual dreams.

“Look at what Gio sent me,” Marti snort-laughs into the side of Nico’s chest, tucked into the crook of his armpit. His giggle bounces the whole mattress, causing the headboard to knock against the wall in a few soft clicks.

Nico cranes his neck down to see a blurry video on Marti’s screen. He recognizes Elia and Luca — looks like they’re drunk and dancing around — but he can’t hear it over Marti’s laughter.

That’s okay. This sight and this sound are better.

It’s the first night in a while they’ve been all alone. Busy day. Busy week. Busy month. They’ve been flying by, honestly. Their schedules rarely sync since summer’s been gone. Sweet texts and quick kisses between hectic agendas and strict parents just feel like bandaids on an open wound named _quality time._

So hearing Marti laugh like this. Doing nothing with him like this. Just _being._ Nico feels like he can finally relax and exhale his extroverted facade.

Because first impressions usually tell strangers Nico is a people person. Rightfully so. He is not unaware of his charm or charisma. He’s been told on more than one occasion his features are _hypnotic._ And it’s all true to an extent — he does enjoy talking to people, making new friends, blending in.

Wearing a mask.

But in a fun kind of way that he can control. Not everyone gets to know the real Nico and that’s the way he likes it — not everyone needs to; once he voiced this thought to Marti on a particularly exhausting afternoon, to which Marti rebutted with _not everyone deserves to._

(He doesn’t believe that, of course. Not even on a good day would his brain allow him. But that doesn’t mean Marti can’t believe it — and the fact that he _does_ believe it makes Nico’s heart so saccharine it’s like a peach past ripe: sweet but bruises just when you hold it.)

But in reality, Nico is more of a _person_ person. And that person is Marti. Never does he exhaust Nico, never is he demanding of Nico’s good mood.

So Friday nights like this — with no people and no plans — are like a little slice of heaven for his heart and his brain.

And, Friday nights like this have become rare since Nico started university. There’s always something going on — a study group that disappointingly worked for everyone’s schedule or a party he agreed to ages ago and can’t get out of — not to mention Marti’s working hard on graduating. 

It’s been a year to get used to. There are no more kisses in the courtyard or chats in the hallway. No late lunches after their last class or ditching one altogether to make out in the bathroom.

Basically, they just see each other a lot less.

Marti’s phone pings, and Nico seems him close the video in his chat with Gio to a new message.

This makes Nico feel a little selfish for wanting to be alone with Marti, especially when his friends are sending him the highlights of a particularly wild night. 

(He has a hard time believing Marti could possibly want to be alone with him, too.)

“We can go out if you want to,” Nico offers, although he’d rather not.

Marti types a response to Gio and sets his phone down on his chest, letting out a sigh that’s halfway a chuckle before turning his head — face so close Nico could count the freckles on his nose if he wanted to. The tip of it tempting to kiss.

“Nah, that’s not it. Gio’s dumb ass just forgot to do a quick assignment due at midnight, so he’s asking me to log in for him and do it.”

“Are you going to?”

Marti snorts. “No. Probably not.”

“Did _you_ do the assignment?” Nico jokes, jostling Marti’s shoulder playfully with the double intention to bring him in a little closer.

“Yeah, did you do all _yours?”_ Marti mocks back thick and dumb, kicking Nico lightly in the shin with his bare foot.

This isn’t a sore spot, per say, but after one tiny argument about who does their homework (Marti) and who doesn’t (Nico), they’ve learned to drop it. Being each other’s babysitter is a quick way to burn out.

Nico thinks.

Shit.

“Fuck,” he exhales, rather indifferent. “No, actually. I didn’t submit this stupid group thing for my art history class. I completely forgot.”

Marti seems unbothered. But then he does one of those corner-mouth smiles that means he’s up to no good. _“Are you going to?”_ He mimics Nico’s low voice in an unflattering but playful way.

He’s such a little shit.

“Fuck off,” Nico laughs. “Can I borrow your laptop? It’ll take like two seconds.”

Marti’s really bad at looking fake offended, but he tries. His eyebrows crinkle down but one of them always stays raised; his eyes narrow but they still sparkle; he can never shake a lingering smile. “After you just told me to fuck off?”

Nico hums, chin tipping up. “Are you scared I’m going to stumble on all your porn? I promise I won’t judge.”

Marti sighs, complete with a dramatic eye roll before he hoists himself off his bed and makes for his desk. _“No,”_ he insists in time with the flop of his laptop when he drops it on the duvet by Nico’s side. He starts heading for the hallway.

Nico puckers his lips at him in a little half-blown kiss. “Thank you.”

Marti, hand on the doorknob, doubles back to give him a real one. It’s supposed to be short and sweet: just a second. But Nico chases his lips for another that’s a little longer — long enough to thread his fingers through Marti’s hair and stop counting. 

“I’m going to go make us a snack,” Marti says over lips and smiles, pulling away.

It’s for the better. Kissing Marti could easily get too distracting, and according to the time in the top corner of Marti’s laptop when he flips it open, his assignment needs to be submitted in the next twenty minutes before it’s counted late.

He’s already _done_ it — mostly. He just needs to get on his university’s assignment portal to turn it in for his class after writing the closing paragraph (he always has problems with those).

But when he starts typing the web address, Marti’s recent google searches auto-populate with the first letter.

He shouldn’t look. He tries not to. But there’s one he can’t ignore.

> _how to get turned on by girls if you’re gay_

Nico just stares at it, sandwiched between _il baretto hours_ and _spotify study playlist_ like a joke while his heart twists.

Saying it was easy for him is a stretch — Nico definitely battled with his sexuality growing up. But stressing about emotions that made him feel _good_ while he waged a war in his head constantly making him feel _terrible,_ well. To say he found comfort in love — unrequited or otherwise, on a man or on a woman or otherwise — is not so much of a stretch. He’s consistently been a romantic at heart.

And he’s always been a little weird. Always looked a little weird. _Might as well just add it to the pile_ — that was his rationale, anyway. And life never stopped piling things on him, dealing him shitty cards. Sometimes he doesn’t know if it’s the impulsiveness ingrained in his personality or the intensity of just how deeply he _feels,_ but hiding himself was never an option.

But Marti.

It’s hard sometimes for Nico to look at the flip side. To imagine Marti turn the thought tangible by typing it in. How alone he must have been feeling to want to feel that way at all.

Half of Nico wishes he could forget he saw this. Half of Nico wants to click Marti’s little Google Chrome account icon in the corner of the browser and see more.

_He shouldn’t._

But he does, guilt quick to follow before he can tear his eyes away after clicking _view search history._

Nico snickers, because there is definitely porn. Littered innocently (and recently) enough between a word for word physics problem and _tricks to fall asleep._

He keeps scrolling.

> _“Niccolò Fares”_

The date says 18 October 2018.

Before Halloween, before Silvia’s 80’s party, even before Marti asked to “borrow” his weed on the bus. Nico’s own name stares back at him in those quotation marks, and he looks down at the keyboard. At the _N._ The _C._ The _L_ and the _F_ and the _S_ and all the letters that spell out his name Marti had to type: because he was thinking of him.

Well before Nico thought Marti might have ever been thinking of him.

There’s one thing Nico has a hard time admitting, and that is he craves validation. The problem with validation is that if you ask for it, the affirmations you just demanded feels exactly like that: a demand. Not genuine in the slightest.

Which in turn makes Nico feel worse because he’s afraid of being annoying for asking at all, which in turn makes him wonder if any validation he’s ever received is _actually_ genuine, which in turn —

(You get it. It’s a vicious cycle.)

So the guilt lessens just a little bit at this revelation. Not that Marti is withholding this lovely piece of information from him on purpose. Maybe he’s just embarrassed, unaware of how much this actually means to Nico.

He _googled_ him. God it makes Nico smile in a strange combination of smug and soft. He writes a mental note to google himself later when he has more time and try to see if he can find whatever Marti found — if anything.

His fingers continue after a pause on the trackpad, scrolling.

And, well. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He should have quit while he was ahead.

> _borderline personality disorder_

The date reads 9 December 2018.

Literally the day after Milan, as if Nico could ever forget. His heart sinks, and he has to close his eyes for a minute, let a deep breath out through his nose.

It’s not that he’s worried about whatever Marti found. They’ve had plenty of long talks about that since — Nico wanted to make sure Marti heard it from _him,_ learn how it affects _him,_ ask _him_ questions. He knew Maddi took some of that right away. He knew he should have been honest with Marti. But those are problems for hindsight.

No, he has to take a moment because _Marti is so kind._ So selfless and caring and willing to learn. And he’s known this, of course he has. Marti proves it to him every day. But even when Marti thought Nico didn’t love him — _could never love him_ — he still cared. 

Nico feels a little twisted at how much this means to him. At how much reassurance this brings despite how confused and scared and alone Marti must have felt typing in these words and reading what Nico knows to be horrible, terrible things.

(At what he must have _thought_ about Nico after reading these things.)

He should stop here. He should. 

But Marti didn’t google anything again until December 14th, and he knows that date very well. 

It’s just a direct youtube link:

> _<https://www.youtu.be/jYZqKoMKguM> _

Nico clicks on it.

And, okay — this is where he should end this rollercoaster of snooping. Because nothing can make him smile and tear up more than picturing Marti watch the ridiculousness that is Chicco Rodi just to make it to the terrace — where Nico heard him come up the stairs and shatter the fantasy of him down in one of those twinkly lights.

(Marti’s told him about this. But Nico’s never watched the video.)

He doesn’t think of this moment too often, because when he does it’s usually too much. So to be reminded of it unexpectedly like this is like a punch to the gut if punches to the gut were satisfying.

Nico hears Marti’s footsteps — soft cold pads on the kitchen tile turning into muffled shuffles on the carpet as he nears the room. He closes the whole browser and shuts the lid to the laptop softly, blinking back a little wetness from his eyes as fast as he can. Any redness he can brush away with just being tired.

There’s a bowl of popcorn in one of Marti’s hands and a mug of steaming tea in the other.

“Sorry, we have to share,” Marti turns his hip towards Nico, motioning for him to grab the popcorn so he can set the tea down. “We only had one bag left. Did you finish your assignment?”

“Yeah,” Nico says without thinking. He shakes his head. “Er, no, actually. It was too late by the time I signed in, and I forgot I only finished part of it. It’ll be no different than turning it in tomorrow. Too tired for full sentences right now.”

His eyes do feel heavy. He starts to make grabby hands at Marti, pulling him down on top of him in a hug.

He’s so warm and heavy and safe. Nico’s peach-like heart is oozing.

“Have I ever told you…” Nico trails, finding Marti’s hair so he can comb his fingers through it. “That I love you?”

Marti props himself up, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. He brushes his nose against Nico’s. “You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Thank you for always being there for me.” There’s a special voice Nico has just for Marti, but it’s nothing he can control. It’s gentle and sensitive and just above a whisper. He only knows he’s using it 1) after it comes out of his mouth and 2) after the look on Marti’s face.

Marti shakes his head so minutely Nico would have missed it if he blinked. “This is nothing you have to thank me for.”

He knows. He does. But he’s still getting used to care from others stemming from honest roots. (If his brain will ever let him get fully there is another story.)

“You know I’m always here for you too, right?”

Marti sinks back down and nods into his temple. “Yeah.”

“I mean it.” Nico swallows something thick in his throat thinking of Marti googling how to like girls, researching his mental illness.

Of _you are not alone._

He feels smile shaped lips press on his cheek.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> say hi to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/)


End file.
